


your sweet lips on my lips

by peachiegirlie



Category: SPY x FAMILY (Manga)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Awkward Romance, Deception, Domestic, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, Sleepy Kisses, Surprise Kissing, oops we're married and i'm in love with you haha?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachiegirlie/pseuds/peachiegirlie
Summary: Loid and Yor fumble their way through a fake relationship, real feelings, identity fraud, the secret police and finding family where you least expect it.Or: Eight kisses to fall in love
Relationships: Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess
Comments: 81
Kudos: 156





	1. spirit kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is based on [this text post](https://lotors.co.vu/post/173953180369/types-of-kisses-i-slow-and-drawn-out-kisses), but I tweaked things a little so it's not exactly the same.  
> This is not a WIP, I'll just be posting the chapters individually over time and each chapter (or kiss) is a different length since each one is kinda a little slice of life with very little overarching plot. (I'm also curious if that annoys people, so just let me know if you'd rather I posted everything like a oneshot rather than have some super short and super long chapters)

**i. spirit kisses. light and feathery over the face. small and quick. running out the door after.**

Anya is off to school. Finally. 

With what he hopes is the hardest part of the mission (finally, blessedly, painfully) achieved, Loid feels as though he can breathe at last. 

Watching Anya don the stiff blouse and neatly pressed pinafore had, oddly enough, calmed the skittering nervousness that's plagued him for the past couple months. It's been a constant stop and start with this mission, and every single detail had erupted with problems and setbacks keeping him awake and panicking all hours of the night. 

It was maddening and frustrating and terrifying all at once. Knowing the fate of two countries could be hanging on a single decision, a single moment, was always daunting but he'd been used to that sensation of bottomless fear after countless missions. 

This was different. This was trusting two complete strangers, one of whom was a child and the other he had to lie to every waking moment, to make the correct choices without even being aware of what was at stake, without even knowing that one wrong move could destroy everything. There had been many (many, _many_ ) moments when he'd almost called it all off, and almost called his handler to arrange for a car explosion and a new ID card. 

_But now_ , Loid muses, _it seems all that worry was a bit excessive_. 

He lets himself relax, eases some tension away from his shoulders, as he watches from the living room while Anya carefully clips the tie onto her collar. Yor fusses over it with fretful fingers, adjusting and pulling and tugging with an adorable frown on her face. Loid can't help but smile a little as he watches them. 

They've made it, against all odds, to her first day at school. The mission is thankfully still well on track and Anya herself seems thrilled at the prospect of school and meeting the other kids, so Loid indulges himself just a bit and sinks into the living room couch with a coffee in his hand while he watches his daughter squeal over her new school shoes as she shows them off to her toys lined up in the living room. 

Yor, on the other hand, seems to be working herself into a state of nervousness that has her blasting through the apartment to check, double-check and triple-check that Anya's got everything she needs. 

"Loid, do you know where Anya's pencil case-" 

"In her bag." 

"What about her grid pad for-" 

"You've already packed it." 

"Does she have her sketching-"

"They don't need that until Wednesday." 

"Alright, but what did I do with her-"

"Yor," Loid huffs softly, wrenching himself off the couch towards Yor, who is practically vibrating with anxious energy as she clutches a battered slip of paper with Anya's booklist on it, "calm down. We've packed everything, and we've checked we've packed everything." 

Yor doesn't even look up at him as he approaches, muttering to herself softly as her eyes skim the booklist over and over. Loid's stomach does a complicated flipping sensation as he nears her, and he can't help but laugh softly at her protesting yelp as he pries the paper from her hands. 

"I haven't finished checking yet," Yor pouts, and oh no, now Loid's chest is joining his stomach in weird emotional acrobatics. He touches a hand to her elbow, and pushes down the relief he feels when she doesn't jolt away. 

"We _have_ checked. She's got everything." Loid means it to be comforting, trying to calm her down and maybe convince her to join him on the couch for, of course, very unselfish reasons. Instead, he watches in horror as Yor's eyes brim with tears. 

"Sorry," she says shakily, "I don't - I don't know why I'm being like this. I just-" 

"No," Loid blurts out, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure of whether or not to reach out to her again or back away. He's never really been great at - crying. Not when he has to actually empathise and he can't just walk away with the knowledge that he'll never have to see them again. "No," he repeats stupidly. 

Thankfully, Yor seems to have collected herself a little. Though her eyes are still watery, she turns to watch Anya's theatrics in the living room, a shaky smile on her face. She keeps her face resolutely turned away from him as she speaks. "Her mother would be proud of her, wouldn't she?" 

Loid feels the relaxing atmosphere he's been drifting through all morning evaporate rapidly. This is very dangerous territory. They've never spoken of Anya's supposed biological mother other than vague remarks about what she'd wanted for Anya's future, and Loid had been more than willing to avoid the topic altogether once it became clear that Yor didn't want to pry. 

If Yor notices his sudden tension, she must attribute it to sadness or grief and blessedly continues without prodding him for an answer. "She _would_ be proud of Anya, I know it. This was what she wanted for her daughter, it was her last wish, right?" 

Loid lets out a shaky breath, not trusting himself to speak. He has no clue how what emotion he's supposed to be drawing on in the scenario. Sadness? Grief? Longing? Nonchalance? He's still scrambling to form a reaction plan when Yor whirls around to face him again, face clouded with dark emotion. 

"This is everything she wanted for Anya," she says shakily, "but instead it's _me_ here now, getting her daughter ready for her first day of school." Her eyes are fixed steadfastly on the floor, refusing to look him in the face. Loid realises it's guilt - it's guilt that has Yor's expression twisted so painfully. "It should be _her_ but it's me instead, Loid I-" 

Loid's hand is reaching for her own before his mind can catch up. Her fingers are cold against his, but she doesn't pull away and he squeezes softly, just once. Yor's gaze flickers briefly to their joined hands before she looks up at him again, eyes searching his face with something akin to desperation. 

"Loid, I _know_ how much this means to you," Yor squeezes his hand tight in hers, bringing her free hand to clasp his other one, "I just don't want to mess this up for you two." 

Loid can only shake his head. He feels awful, knowing that Yor is this torn up about a dead wife that never existed. He always manages to justify, in some way or another, the lies and the deceit necessary for missions because that's exactly what they are: necessary. But now, frozen under the weight of Yor's undeserved guilt, he just feels sick. He wants to tell her - about the mission, the orphanage where he found Anya, the fake photos around the apartment and the truth about all the cuts and scrapes he appears home with. 

But Yor looks miserable, and almost scared, and Loid realises with an awful sinking feeling that he's going to have to lie to her again. There's a mission - one that's bigger than Yor, certainly bigger than Loid's flimsy guilt, and he knows - no matter how awful the reality is - that neither of their feelings matter right now. 

He shakes his head slowly, making sure not to break eye contact with Yor. Her bottom lips is being pulled painfully between her teeth as she looks up at him. "This-" Loid almost winces at the catch in his voice before starting again. "This might not be how I- we - thought it'd be," he says slowly, "but I'm not - I'm still happy." Yor just sighs, turning to look at Anya once more, who is very confidently attempting to put her shoes on the wrong feet. 

"Yor," Loid frowns, "I mean it." He leans around, forcing her to look at him again. "I'm happy that Anya got in, really. And -" he pauses, considers the weight of his next words before deciding he wants to say them anyway, "I'm happy you're here." It scares him how much those words don't feel like a lie. 

He offers Yor a small smile, another reassuring squeeze of their hands and is rewarded with a soft quirk of lips in return. It's not Yor's usual carefree, unbridled grin but he'll take it. 

"Okay," Yor breathes out, eyes fluttering shut briefly. She pulls away from him wordlessly, and returns to the living room, helping Anya pull the shoes onto the right feet this time. 

The rest of the morning passes quickly and mostly silently, but the frenzied, heavy air from before is replaced with a gentler kind of atmosphere. By the time they make it down to the bus stop, Anya's school bag ridiculously large against her tiny frame, Loid's well on his way to his earlier state of contentment. 

They watch, beside many other parents consisting of stern looking fathers and quite a few teary eyed mothers, as Anya boards the bus with almost no unfortunate encounters (she does, however, manage to trip over the top step onto the bus and takes down several of her classmates in the chaos - he receives a disapproving sniff from the mother beside him when he fails to restrain a laugh). 

They wave and wave until the bus is firmly out of sight and Loid's arm is aching from all the waving, but he still lets it hang in the air a good few seconds after the bus is well and truly gone. 

The relief he feels is so encompassing, it's almost physical. He doesn't think he's ever been so worried on a mission before, and to see it all finally paying off has him smiling like an idiot. Or, he guesses, like a proud father seeing his wonderful daughter off to her first day at a highly prestigious school. 

He's jolted to awareness with the gentle press of fingers against the small of his back. He whirls around to find Yor smiling sheepishly at him. 

"Loid, I have to head off the work now," she says, gesturing vaguely behind her with a nervous hand, handbag clutched tightly in the other. "Sorry about this morning and...thank you. I'm -" Yor lets out a breathy laugh, a flush climbing high on her cheeks, "I'm happy, too." 

Loid can only stand there mutely and nod, heart fluttering uncomfortably against his ribcage. Yor seems to be waiting for him to say something, and he thinks that they're having a - a _moment_ , or at least it feels like a moment, but what would he even say in a moment, and oh no it's moved on from a maybe-moment and now it's just silence and now the silence is becoming awkwardly stretched and he really should say something but how does she expect him to be able to speak when she's looking at him with her eyes bright and her mouth curved so sweetly like that - 

"Well," Yor laughs again but it's strained and coloured with nerves, breaking over his head like glass, "I guess I'll just...go to work, now." She spins away after another awkward laugh, leaving him stood stiffly on the pavement. 

He really should head back up to the apartment, check his work phone, and get to writing the weekly report he knows he'll be late on submitting (again). He really should do all those things. 

But. 

They'd just had a - something. It might have been a moment. And he'd enjoyed it. And he didn't want it to end just yet - not when they'd finally accomplished something in the mission, not when Loid feels as though everything is going to be okay, not when he can finally breathe around Yor after months of not knowing whether or not the next sentence out of her mouth would condemn two countries to war. 

His legs are moving swiftly and then his hand, once again, is in hers before he knows what he's doing. She startles, begins to pull away before he spins her around and she realises it's him. "Loid, what-" 

He steps forward to close the distance between them, until they're chests are almost touching, and leans down to press his lips gently against her cheek. Into it, he wills all of his thankfulness and his hope, and he prays she can understand. And then, because he can, he bestows another small kiss to her forehead. 

Yor gapes up at him, for once shocked beyond her tendency of nervous rambling. He steps back quickly, not wanting to linger too long in the sudden temptation to place a kiss on every angle of her face. 

"Oh," Yor blurts out, eyes darting around to the other parents splintering off into various cars or walking swiftly away clutching their briefcases. "Right." She clears her throat, before tugging on her hand in his grasp. Loid can feel the beginnings of a frown pulling at his lips, thinking with a sinking heart she's about to pull away, but then suddenly a pair of soft lips is being pressed to the back of his hand, the pressure so gentle and so fleeting he isn't sure he hasn't imagined it entirely. 

A second of silence stretches impossibly long between them, both facing the other with flaming cheeks and eyes that refuse to meet the ones opposite. 

"Right," Yor repeats, stepping back out of the warm bubble Loid hadn't even been aware they'd sunk into, "I'm off! Have a good day!" She practically shrieks the last sentence, wrenching her hand from Loid's and setting off on a brisk pace towards the city centre. Loid is, again, left frozen in place as the morning moves on around him. 

That had _definitely_ been a moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed, they fuel my soul :D  
> Keep an eye out for future chapters, they'll be up soon!! Tags will be updated with each chapter.
> 
> Also- come say hey on [tumblr](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com) or reblog [this post](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com/post/641134864796729344/your-sweet-lips-on-my-lips) where I update the chapters!


	2. morning kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet! this is another one i messed around with, so if you've seen the prompt this was based on, it's not been taken word for word.  
> 

**ii. morning kisses. lazily pressing lips together. soft and warm from cocoons of blankets.**

Mornings might be Loid's favourite part of the day. He's always, without fail, the first person up and about, with Yor and Anya having to practically be dragged into the realm of consciousness, and the unhurried moments spent puttering around at the same sluggish pace of the sun’s ascent are often a welcome reprieve from the chaos that Operation Strix is quickly devolving into. 

He likes the gentle silence of the apartment as he goes about getting breakfast ready for all of them, appreciates that it's not the cold silence of being alone but just the silence of waiting for noise. He's spent months in this warm apartment and he can run through the beats of the morning almost perfectly.

Anya usually stumbles out of her room, stomping loudly and grumbling softly, around the time Loid finishes cracking the eggs for the omelettes. She always pokes her head into the kitchen and requests pancakes, to which Loid usually refuses (but will, on an occasional Sunday, acquiesce), before ambling out to the living room to fall asleep on the couch again. 

Next, Yor will come yawning and blinking out of her own room, wrapped in a ridiculously fluffy robe no matter the weather as Loid pours out two cups of coffee - one black with one sugar and one with milk and a dangerous amount of sweetener. Very secretly (and only very occasionally), Loid will admit to himself that this morning-muddled Yor sets his heart into a frantic rhythm he's long given up on analysing. She's quieter and softer than she is during the day, but it's a comfortable silence rather than her usual nervous one, and her hands are always still warm from the covers and sweetly slow when her fingers brush his as he hands her a cup of coffee. 

Then, they all sit down in a warm blanket of relative silence to eat before Yor and Anya finally shake off the throes of sleep, realise they have to get Anya on the bus in less than half an hour and spend the rest of the morning tearing frantically through the apartment to get ready. 

So yes, Loid knows their morning routine like the back of his hand, he's got it memorised to the minute and he knows exactly what to expect.

Except one morning, one _single_ morning, Yor comes out of her room a couple minutes earlier than usual. Strange, but Loid files it away under _inconsequential_ almost immediately because her early emergence doesn't appear to be for any particular reason or have any cause for concern. If anything, it's probably for the better she's up earlier because they might actually succeed at getting Anya to the school bus at a time that's earlier than a scarce two minutes before it pulls away. 

She's also, even more strangely, not wearing her robe, instead she's wearing a hoodie that look very familiar because - 

It's _his_ hoodie. 

(Well, it's not really his - it's one the agency purchased for him that belongs to the university "Loid Forger" allegedly graduated from with an M.D. He'd worn it only once for a fake photo of him in his "uni" days. Details aside - it's _his_ hoodie) 

It's the hoodie he lent to Yor a couple weeks ago when they'd somehow both forgotten to do the washing and she didn't have any of her usual knit jumpers left. And it's not so much that seeing Yor in _his_ hoodie lights up the annoying caveman part of his brain, but rather the fact that Yor just looks so- she's just looks so incredibly...

Cute. 

Loid can remember the Yor from before they moved in together. He hadn't chosen her because she was cute. He'd chosen her as a perfect candidate guaranteed to buy into his sob story, thinking at the time she hit all the marks - practically friendless, not much in the way of family, working a menial office job with mediocre income, just the right blend of loneliness, naivety and compassion to not ask too many questions about Loid's outrageous proposition. Easy to manipulate, and even easier to exploit as a cover. Outsiders would naturally assume Yor Briar's husband was as bland and uninteresting as Yor herself. 

Loid's not usually in the business of admitting he was wrong but - he was very wrong. 

He can see Yor, now, very vividly as the woman who felled a rampaging animal four times her size, who can put her hand through a solid wood table if she's even a little bit excited, who has a right hook any professional boxer would weep over and who runs head first into trouble with a startlingly intense determination and fierce protectiveness he's almost a little wary of. Yor's not the least bit the timid, inexperienced woman he'd thought her to be and he's grateful that it's worked out to be for the better. 

(She is, also, if Loid thinks about in a _completely_ objective point of view, quite adorable. And, if he's pressed to think harder about it, also very pretty. Objectively speaking, of course.)

And right now in the muted orange light of the sunrise struggling over the city, as Yor shuffles towards him with her hand curled around the too-long edges of his pilfered hoodie and her eyes half-mast with lingering sleepiness, Loid finally admits to himself that maybe the flip-flopping sensation in his stomach and the uncomfortable stirring in his chest when he looks at her is perhaps not just the feeling of growing respect. 

Wordlessly, he holds her coffee out to her, cringing at the way his hands shake slightly. 

Yor mumbles her thanks, one hand stretched out for the mug and the other reaching up behind Loid's head. He's barely registered the presence of soft fingers at the nape of his neck before he's being pulled down, Yor's eyes still bleary and unfocussed with sleep as she angles her face up to his. 

She leans up and presses her lips quick and dry against his own, before stumbling out of the kitchen to the dining table with a sigh, leaving Loid frozen and bright red in the face.

That's - that's not part of the morning routine. 

Loid brings a hand up to his mouth, touching a finger to his trembling lips. 

Yes, mornings are _definitely_ his favourite part of the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed, they fuel my soul :D  
> Keep an eye out for future chapters, they'll be up soon!! Tags will be updated with each chapter.
> 
> Also- come say hey on [tumblr](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com) or reblog [this post](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com/post/641134864796729344/your-sweet-lips-on-my-lips) where I update the chapters!


	3. sudden kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Quick note for **alcohol consumption** , a drunk OC (Loid and Yor only have a single drink and are very far from intoxicated) and also a bit of swearing.

**iii. sudden kisses. in the middle of a sentence. catching the other's lips and pulling them into your arms.**

Loid has never realised how painfully draining a party could be when the duration of the party is spent fretting. Fretting about hair. Fretting about food. Fretting about seeing people you know. Fretting about seeing people you don't know. It's exhausting, and he's only been here for forty minutes. 

And yet, Yor somehow still has bags of energy to spend even more time to do exactly that. Fret. 

The fretting hadn't even begun at the party, or after the first awkward introduction of _This is my husband Loid- oh I never mentioned him, that's because - uh - we - um...you'll have to excuse us I just saw my fifth grade - uh - swim instructor_. 

The fretting had begun the week _before_ when Yuri had called to say that, yes, he was free to babysit Anya for the evening of the party. Yor had relayed the news to Loid with an almost glum expression. He'd chalked it up to missing out on seeing her brother on one of his rare evenings off.

Then, the day she'd picked up a coat from the colleague who was lending it to her for the night, Yor had glared so intensely at the bag it was stuffed in that Loid had covered it with a blanket. Loid had just assumed Yor didn't get along with this particular co-worker. 

Even the morning of the party, she'd poked and prodded her breakfast around the plate without eating much at all with her mouth pulled into a thin, strained line. Loid had, with a sinking heart, realised that Yor was probably getting sick of his omelette breakfasts. 

He had almost attributed all of Yor's nervous moods to the incident ( _kiss!)_ in the kitchen - maybe she'd remembered and now she felt awkward around him, or mad that he let it happen. 

(A very small, traitorous part of him whispered that maybe she was trying to find the perfect time to do it again.)

But then. _Then_ they'd finally arrived at the party and Loid could suddenly see every moment of Yor's discomfort from the past week in a stark new light. 

She stumbled on the steps leading up to the entrance, her hand trembled as she hung her coat on the cloak rack, she stammered when introducing Loid to her colleagues and she grimaced around what small bites she managed to stomach of the canapes. 

Yor was nervous and so very obviously uncomfortable, shrinking more and more into herself as she stood beside him while people came and went, often with snide comments about her 'mystery husband' or about 'how kind Anita was to lend you such a pretty coat’. It made Loid itch under his skin, twitchy and breathless with the same kind of writhing energy he got from hand-to-hand combat, although he was dismayed to admit to himself that this was a different kind of fight altogether. 

He had no idea why Yor needed to be here, if all anyone was going to was sneer behind her back or make uninvited comments on their relationship. He'd known that Yor wasn't close to her colleagues, and he'd seen enough photos of them to understand the kind of talk that probably went on in the office. Even so, nothing had prepared him for the way they'd spoken to Yor, all sweet and honeyed words with derisive eyes and barely concealed smirks. 

The very first time he'd opened his mouth to deliver a sharp retort to a particularly nasty barb, Yor had placed her hand gently on his chest, lips pursed and a warning in her eyes. The deliverer of the comment had sailed away with a giggle amid a cloud of acrid perfume and hairspray and Loid was left seething petulantly as Yor turned away to stutter through another introduction with yet another colleague.

Now, it's been less than an hour and it's very clear to them, and the large crowd of other people in the room, that Loid and Yor are not enjoying this party. 

Sequestered in a non-conspicuous corner of the room, he sighs softly, leaning his head back against the wall, uncaring of the eyes fixed on him from around the room. Beside him, Yor is struggling her way through a conversation with an elderly lady, who - from what Loid has overheard - seems to be very interested in whether or not Yor has heard of a particular kind of convoluted superannuation package that honestly sounds like a pyramid scheme. Yor's brow is furrowed, and her eyes flit about over the other woman's shoulder as she nods absently. 

He sighs again, a little louder than last time, and the older woman sends a positively withering glare his way before twirling around to stalk away from their cold little corner with a huff. Yor doesn't even seem to notice, still preoccupied with cataloguing every person in attendance. 

She's so preoccupied, in fact, that she startles wildly when a blonde woman wearing a blindingly neon skirt and bright red lipstick teeters over to them. Katy or Kath or Kaylen, maybe - Loid hadn't been paying attention during the introductions, he had been focusing all of his energy on not cringing each time Yor stumbled over his name. 

(She'd called him Foid Lorger a few times, and also James, not once, but _twice_ \- he didn't want to know who _James_ had been.)

He decides this is Katy (maybe). In one of maybe-Katy's hands is an empty champagne flute and in the other is a full wine glass. He can see just how painful this encounter is going to be before she even opens her mouth. 

"Yor, my darling," maybe-Katy drawls, "you look like you're having a positively miserable time." Loid barely resists the urge to drag a hand down his face in exasperation, while Yor lets out an honest to god squeak. 

"No," she blurts out. "It - it's a _lovely_ party, I'm - _we're_ having such a great night." Yor tucks a hand in the crook of his elbow, fingers pressing not too gently into his arm. "Isn't that right... _honey_?" 

"Yes," Loid manages to grind out, relieved when the pressure on his arm eases at his answer. "It's wonderful." Maybe-Katy squints at them both, lips pursed severely. Yor is practically vibrating with anxiety, hand twitching against his arm and it's all he can do not to storm off to the car and drag Yor along with him. 

"Hm," maybe-Katy hums thoughtfully before pulling her face into a plastic smile, "Yor, my dear, I think you need a drink. Logan, was it?" She turns to him, smile slipping into something a bit sharper, all teeth and not a hint of amusement. "Why don't you run and get some drinks for yourself and your little lady, hm?" 

He turns to Yor, who looks nervously between him and maybe-Katy. When it becomes clear that no one is going to say anything, Loid detaches himself from Yor with a huff and stalks off to the bar. 

_This is ridiculous_ , Loid seethes as he waits for the bartender to come round to his side. He can come up with no logical reason why he and Yor have to be here tonight, suffering through stilted conversations and standing glumly in a corner. He's also a little mad at himself for being so worked up about this. It's part of the mission, and it's been drummed into him countless times over the years that as soon as you start _feeling things_ on a mission it never ends well, especially not this restless, itching frustration under his skin that has him almost twitching with some sort of dangerously simmering emotion he can’t even name. 

He decides he doesn't care much about the details of the _mission_ right now, not when he looks over to see Yor's expression pinched and thin while maybe-Katy has one of her acrylic adorned paws on her arm, the other gesturing wildly with a sloshing wine glass. 

The bartender finally makes their way over, and Loid jabs distractedly to the menu card in front of him, muttering "Two please" as he continues to glare daggers at the side of maybe-Katy's head. Yor's expression is steadily becoming more and more pinched, and he sees her step pointedly out of the other woman's grasp just as he begins making his way back to them with drinks in hand. 

"Loid!" Yor says, the relief obvious in her voice as she sees him approach. Maybe-Katy, on the other hand, looks like she's swallowed a lemon. 

"Got your favourite...babe," Loid says with no small amount of fake cheeriness, appreciating the disgusted expression maybe-Kayla's face twists into and especially enjoying the blush that rises on Yor's cheeks. 

"O-oh thanks, I love..." Yor stammers, peering cautiously with a sniff into the glasses in Loid's hands, "vodka redbulls." Loid pales, looking down at the drinks in horror, only just now realising what he'd accidentally ordered both of them. 

"Takes you back to those university years, doesn't it?" Maybe-Katy sniffs haughtily. Loid hurriedly schools his features into a calm mask, lifts the glass in his left to his mouth and takes a long, _horrible_ drink. 

Yor and maybe-Katy are both grimacing at him now and Loid has to resist the urge to wipe the acrid sweetness off his tongue with a napkin.

"Well...you have a good think about what I said, okay dear?" maybe-Katy says pointedly, with a disdainful glare sent Loid's way for good measure, before she traipses away no doubt to pounce on some other unsuspecting couple. 

Yor sags against the wall as they watch the neon clad figure disappear into the crowd, letting out a frustrated groan. 

"That bad, huh?" Loid grimaces as he hands Yor her drink, taking a generous swig of his own. "What'd she want?" 

"To provide her unsolicited opinion on our marriage, of course, because Kayla -" _ah_ , Loid thinks, _Kayla, not Katy_ \- " _always_ thinks she knows best, patronising little- _ugh_ " Yor growls, gulping down a concerningly large mouthful of her drink, running her tongue over lips after she swallows. Loid _does not_ track that movement. At all. 

"What did she think about us?" 

Yor scoffs sharply, and Loid shifts uneasily as he realises this is the angriest he's ever seen her before. Whatever Kayla had said had clearly pushed her well past anxiety and steadily towards indignant rage. He totally, definitely (okay, _maybe_ ) does not find it a deliciously attractive side of Yor. 

"She said you were taking _advantage_ of my _fragile_ disposition!" Yor hisses, fingers tightening around the glass so much so that Loid fears it'll crack. "That I was too naive to notice you clearly have ulterior motives." Loid can't help but huff out a bitter laugh at that, and Yor shoots him an unimpressed look. "Oh, well, she's right about that _but_ \- she was still wrong." 

Loid hums thoughtfully, draining the rest of the drink in a smooth gulp. "And what are my _ulterior_ motives?" 

Yor shifts beside him. "Oh well - well, Anya. Obviously." 

"Obviously," he parrots, grinning when Yor delivers a swift smack to his chest, a soft smile of her own growing steadily over the rim of her glass. Silence settles between them, but it's a blessedly comfortable one after the cloud of anxiety that's plagued them through the night. 

After a while, Yor starts to hum along to the music filtering lowly out of the speakers, tension bleeding from her shoulders until she's leaning, just a little, into Loid. It's just the material of her dress brushing against the back of his hand, but he feels it like a bolt of lightning at the point of contact all the same. 

The comfortable lull of Yor's humming stretches on, pleasant and warm, and Yor leans towards him a little more with each song that passes until her bare arm is pressed against his chest, and her hair is close enough for Loid to smell her hibiscus shampoo. The dizzy scent of it rushes to his head faster than any alcohol. 

"You should kiss me." 

He almost mistakes Yor's words for lyrics to the song that's playing in the background, but suddenly Yor turns around abruptly, eyes wide and mouth twisted nervously. 

"Actually, I should kiss you," Yor says again, words rushed and clumsy as they leave her mouth. Loid can only gape, which Yor seems to take as her cue to launch into her very long-winded, frazzled rationale. 

"That'll show them this is- real! And- and you're not just playing me around, right?" Loid finds himself nodding along with Yor, though he can't really process the words leaving her mouth right now - he's sort of stuck on _you should kiss me_. Yor barrels right on, oblivious to the turmoil she's just thrown him into. 

"So, if you kiss me, or I kiss you - I mean, it's not like it's an activity limited to _one_ participant, I mean, that's kind of the point so I guess it's both of us kissing each other- we can show them that we're _married_ married" Loid almost chokes, his traitorous mind greedily counting the number of times Yor said 'kiss' in that last sentence. Yor's frantic speech continues, even as her ears are steadily turning a bright kind of red. 

"We need to kiss - right now. To prove that you l-love me....so um. Kiss me." 

Loid _does_ choke at the way those words sound off Yor's tongue. Breathless. Nervous. Wanting. 

_No_. His brain catches up with the rest of him, distantly acknowledging that Yor's plan is actually kind of solid. They've put on affectionate displays for their neighbours before, but they've never actually kissed, and obviously Yor's nosy co-workers haven't been satisfied with their small, innocent touches throughout the night. 

He also knows that, while this tactic should be effective, this isn't an excuse for him to get all in his head creating fantastical situations involving any amount of real affection. 

It's a dangerous game, with his mind jumbled around anytime Yor is near, replaying the kiss in the kitchen, cataloguing every one of their fleeting touches, tracing the curves of her face whenever she smiles. He wants to kiss her, so very, very badly but - 

The past few months, his heart's been pattering out a nonsensical rhythm whenever he catches so much of glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye and -

And Loid knows why, now, and he can finally admit to himself that his feelings for Yor have sort of run away from him just a bit. It's a dangerous secret, given the circumstances, and he holds it tight under his ribs, ashamed and exhilarated in equal measure. 

He can't think past Yor looking up at him, face pink and a curl of nervousness around her eyes but so open and trusting at the same time, even as she continues to throw words out of her mouth so quickly that he can't really register them. 

He can do this. For the mission. For his country. 

Really, it's not much of a sacrifice. 

He steps forward, into the frame of her hips, and gently brings his lips to cover hers, the nervous rambling disappearing from the air. It's short, dry and deliberately chaste, and he leans back quickly to study Yor's face. 

It's very red. And very shocked.

Then her mouth is moving again and she's saying something like, "Wow, um, yes - that works, I guess, I mean - thank you, uh, um maybe- maybe we should do that a-again just to, hm, really convince them, that is - if you want, I understand if-if you don't, um, so, yes, if you don't w-we can just, uh, not-" 

Then Loid is saying, "Okay," and he brushes his fingers, just once, across her jaw before stepping towards her again. 

He leans down, slowly this time, keeping his eyes open to watch Yor's face for any sign of discomfort, ready to pull back as soon as she tells him _never mind, that was a silly idea._ Except she never pulls away, doesn't ask him to stop. Instead, she brings a gentle hand to rest on the back of his head, soft and reassuring. 

He stops, barely a breath away from Yor's lips, their noses slotted together and their chests heaving against one another despite the distance between their mouths. 

He has barely a moment to consider how bad of an idea this is before Yor is pulling him down the rest of the way and he gives in to the surging emotion in his chest. 

Loid follows the gentle guidance of the hand at his head, eyes fluttering closed when he first feels Yor's lips press softly against his. It's so painfully reminiscent of the kitchen scene that he almost draws back on instinct. But Yor's hand is firm as it slides to rest at the base of his neck, keeping him drawn close to her, and then her mouth is moving slowly, tentatively against his and this suddenly isn't like the kitchen kiss at all. 

He presses his lips back against hers, hands fluttering unsure in the air before settling at her waist and he swears he can feel her skin burning through the fabric into his palms. His lips part with a soft gasp from Yor as he presses against her, mouth moving with hers, still slow but with an unmistakable desperation bleeding through from the overwhelming surge of his heart. 

Everything spirals down to centre on Yor against him. 

His hands at her hips, burning deliciously hot as he draws her impossibly closer. 

Her fingers at the nape of his neck, the other hand trailing up to cup his jaw, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

Her lips, soft and sweet against his own, the small, subvocal noises escaping between breaths swallowed down with each heated movement. 

Her heartbeat a frantic rhythm he can imagine he feels beating against his own chest, matched only by the frenzy of his own smattering pulse. 

It's like burning and sinking into cool, clean water at the same time, and he has no idea why they haven't done this before, why has he never held her in his arms like this when it's so incredibly, unbelievably, intoxicating - 

"Hey!" Loid registers the drunken shout at exactly the same time as Yor, and they both pull away with an almost audible pop. 

He opens his eyes and is immediately confronted with Yor blinking slowly up at him, red lips parted softly and her breathless gasp skating across his skin. It takes all of his self control not to reel her back in and seal his mouth against hers again. 

"Hey!" Loid turns to see none other than Kayla, teetering towards them with a fresh scotch glass in her hand. "Whaddya think you two are doing?" 

Yor opens her mouth to speak, but Kayla merely holds up a manicured hand. "Y'know what? I don' think I wanna know. Go home, ya dirty animals." With a dismissive wave of her glass, amber liquid sloshing over the side, Kayla twirls around and heads straight back to the bar. 

Which leaves Loid and Yor completely alone again, still wrapped up in each other's arms. Right. 

He steps back hastily, immediately feeling the cold settle back into him. Yor just stares at him, blinking a bit dazedly. He's not really sure if he should say something. What would he even say? 

_That was fun, let's do it again sometime._

_That was a terrible idea, and now I_ **_know_ ** _I'm definitely in love with you._

Loid sighs, a sudden wave of exhaustion making its way from his chest to his fingertips. He flexes his hands once before grabbing their previously forgotten glasses in a hand each. When he drains each glass in quick succession he notes, a bit scornfully, that although the alcohol burns as much as it did with the first sip it does little to warm his chest. 

"Let's go," he mutters, brushing past Yor, who is still standing like a statue in front of him, "We can get a cab. I'll get the car tomorrow." Yor follows quietly behind him, her eyes regarding him not with bewilderment or nervousness, but with a bright glimmer of something that looks scarily close to realisation. 

The silence is almost unbearably stifling on the ride home and he knows he should wait for Yor to say whatever it is she's clearly wanting to, but he feels too raw, like a single touch or word will send him spiralling over the edge of the world into a chasm of the unknown. So, once they get home and they both finish toeing off their uncomfortable dress shoes, he doesn't linger in the living room long enough for Yor to say anything, just heads straight to his own room and throws himself onto the bed, even though he knows it's quite possibly the cruellest move he could make in the situation. 

He stares up at the ceiling and brings his hands to rest over his face wearily. With a low groan, he digs the meat of his palms into his eyes and tries futilely to ignore the way they burn wetly. 

"Fuck." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed, they fuel my soul :D  
> Keep an eye out for future chapters, they'll be up soon!! Tags will be updated with each chapter.
> 
> Also- come say hey on [tumblr](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com) or reblog [this post](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com/post/641134864796729344/your-sweet-lips-on-my-lips) where I update the chapters!


	4. soft kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Sorry this is a little late and also very short - it's super sappy and mushy so I hope that makes up for it!! This chapter also fits quite nicely with (almost) Valentine's Day, which I thought was a cute coincidence.  
> Quick warning for a very brief **sexual reference** , which you can avoid by skipping past the chunk of bracketed text directly after _inexperienced teenager_.

**iv. soft kisses. kind and sweet. an adoring look for the other in their eyes.**

T hey don't talk about the party. 

By the time Loid gets over his own dramatic realisation that he's fallen in love with his legally wedded wife, Yor seems to be entirely uninterested in discussing any sort of specifics of the party. 

She scampers off with a weakly stammered excuse every time he mentions that night, and after the fifth aborted attempt to sort it out, Loid decides it's probably easier to let it lie. Besides, even though they don't talk about it, it's clear that something has changed. 

He feels it when he catches the scent of hibiscus around the apartment, when he can sense Yor smiling soft at him as he rolls around the floor with Anya, when he finds himself lying in bed unable to close his eyes without flashes of warm red eyes and soft pale skin. 

It feels like holding his breath, a restless tremor under his skin, urging him to recapture that moment, that magic from the night at the party. He won't let himself hope, though, not until (if ever) he can be sure this is something he can risk, so he contents himself to touch. Only innocent affection, nothing too intimate or anything to overstep, always waiting for Yor to reach first before reaching back, but every brush of skin sets his heart beating away into a frenzy like some inexperienced teenager. 

(he does spend a few shameful shower sessions surrounded by the wet, intensified smell of tropically flowered shampoo sorting out some...particular problems that are  _ very _ reminiscent of his teenagehood.) 

Yor, it seems, is also more than happy about this turn of events. 

Their routine falls back into an easy semblance of normal, but there are some shy smiles that are too giddy and certain soft gazes that are held too long for it to truly be back to what it was before. Loid is definitely not complaining. 

Their days (and touches) go something like this:

Yor lets her fingers brush against his a little longer when she retrieves her coffee from him in the morning. Sometimes, he stretches his legs out so his socked foot will rest against hers under the table as they discuss their plans for the day over a breakfast of omelettes and toast. 

She gets into the habit of smoothing down his tie as he leaves for work, a small hand trailing from his throat to his chest that leaves him feeling like his skin is entirely too tight. She even knots it for him on the days she can see he's more tired than usual. If he's feeling particularly brave, he'll bring his hand to rest atop hers on his chest, holding it there while he says goodbye. 

When she comes home after work to him and Anya sitting at the table, struggling through a mound of homework, she comes up behind him to lean over the both of them, her chest warm against his back as she coos over Anya's improvement. Recently, he's started to swivel in his chair to give her a small smile whenever she leans over him like that, tucking her hair behind her ear for her as he asks about her day. 

They move around the kitchen together with hands pressed briefly against each other's waists and shoulders, blushes usually high on their cheeks as a result of the cramped space. 

Then, they settle together on the couch while Anya is allowed her one episode of television a night, knees  _ just _ touching and hands resting on the cushions almost close enough to brush together. 

It's a dizzying change of pace from the earlier months of awkward silence and nervous dinner table conversation, and, deep down, Loid knows they shouldn't be doing -  _ this _ . They're not actually together, this deal was based purely on convenience and with the agreement that neither party was obligated to do more than pretend. 

But they are certainly not pretending now. 

(except -  _ he  _ is. he's still lying to yor. yor - who thinks he's loid forger. yor - who, for the first time in his life, is someone he wants to be honest with. but he can't. because he's not loid forger at all.) 

Sometimes he can see it in Yor's face - the panic when she leans into him a little too long, or her eyes roam a little too hungrily. He knows what she's seeing, understands what she's worried about. 

Anya. The practised, comfortable routine of their charade. The sproutings of a family growing around them. 

There's technically nothing holding them back, no one to come between them and whatever this tentative situation is unfolding into, no one scrutinising their every move since Loid has long removed all of the agency’s planted bugs from the apartment. Except -

What if they let themselves go only to end up in pieces? 

What if they try  _ this _ and they're both disappointed? 

What if whatever small, fledgling semblance of a home they've built comes crashing down among their greed? 

They can't risk an irreconcilable argument, can't risk  _ Anya _ . 

Even beyond that, Loid can't risk his country, his mission, his duty. Loid's here to serve a purpose and, the horrible reality is that Yor is, too. They're props, living out someone else's life for a good that's certainly greater than both of them, and that's what matters- that's the  _ only  _ thing that should matter. 

But Loid's had a glimpse of it now, of what his life might be like after this God awful war, after he's able to say he did his part and played his role and when he can finally sleep knowing there's no more children left on the streets to play in the rubble of their own lives. 

And he wants it. He wants that life with a ferocity that scares even himself, and-

He just doesn't care, because he's never wanted this before, not with such surety, and judging from Yor's face when he catches her watching him, she's never felt this pull, this wild compulsion either. 

So, he decides, just once, that he'll allow himself to give in. 

So, he calls Yor's name softly to get her attention as he makes his way on nervous legs to where she's sorting through a pile of magazines and promotional flyers on the kitchen bench. 

So, he brings a deliberate hand to rest on her jaw as he reaches her, thumb brushing gently across pale skin, steady even as Yor's eyes widen in shock. 

So, he replies simply with, "I want to kiss you," when Yor asks him shakily, "What are you doing?"

So, he slides his lips against hers when she nods breathlessly in reply, brings his other hand up to cradle her face, lets himself be crushed against her when she winds two strong arms around his waist. 

So, he lets himself drink in the sight of her as he pulls back, smiling softly as their foreheads rest together, twin grins of giddy delight and eyes that say  _ I've waited and wanted and I'm not letting go. _

So, he says to her, softly, reverently, desperately, "Tell me what you want." 

He kisses her again, sweet and slow and hopeful, when she whispers, "Just you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main reason this update was a little late is that this week has, personally, been kinda hard and I just didn't want to even look at this fic while I was having my little self pity party. I'm going to be taking a (very) short break from posting this fic because my week of moping set me back a bit with where I wanted to be with editing and I may have also had a slight anxiety induced meltdown and decided to rewrite the entirety of the last two chapters haha. So. There's that. Chp 5 will likely be up 24th of Feb! I'm really sorry for the delay!  
> Thank you all for continuing to read and being so lovely with your comments, I feel very, very lucky to be able to read through them and know you're all enjoying this super sappy, super self-indulgent fic!


	5. frustrated kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it, thank you all for your lovely comments! No content notes/warning for this one.

**v. frustrated kisses. knowing that one has to go. enveloping their arms around the other and holding foreheads together.**

Three entirely blissful months of being a real, non-fake, totally legitimate, 100% not pretending couple. 

(okay, so not _entirely blissful_ \- there's a few tense days that follow an unfortunate cooking incident, a silent standoff that lasts no more than half an hour after a misunderstanding about coworkers and a weirdly raw confrontation about co-parenting, but all in all - they're totally blissed out.) 

It's still alarming, at moments, to remember they're _actually_ doing this. He startles sometimes when Yor drapes herself over him while he's making breakfast, or when she punctures her morning goodbyes with a kiss as she sees him off to work. 

They've had their fair share of awkward encounters, and have yet to move past a few heated kisses and awkwardly wandering hands, mostly due to Loid's difficulty with honest intimacy and Yor's strange habit of being unstoppably physically affectionate while also being extremely self conscious of every action she makes around him. It's not - perfect, not by any means, but it's _theirs._

This new relationship feels like a secret between the two of them, something they hold close to their chests with giddy laughter and shy smiles. Despite the fact that everyone thinks they're married, and therefore also probably assumes they're in love, it feels different when they're sitting on the couch wrapped up in one another just because they can. 

Of course, it's not all sunshine and rainbows. 

He still hasn't said anything to Yor about his real job, or his real identity. He _knows_ he should, he knows it's not fair to keep something of this magnitude from her, especially given the way this whole relationship started. And with Operation Strix ramping up in intensity, he's not sure he realistically could keep it a secret even if he wanted to.

The disquiet begins to stir around the beginning of summer, the dry cold giving way to tentatively pleasant sunshine and the beginnings of stifling humidity, but the clinically cool basement office where he receives his next mission orders is far, far removed from any sort of warmth. 

"Ostanian Shadow Minister for Multicultural affairs - Edward Klemmer," his handler says, heaving a thick folder onto the sleek, wooden desk separating her from Loid. His spine is beginning to twinge as he resists the urge to stand at ease. His handler always leaves a chair on the opposite side of her desk, but it presumably is not meant for the agents under her direction since he's never once been invited to sit in it. 

Loid thumbs the corner of the folder thoughtfully. "Ostanian?" 

His handler grimaces slightly, the cool glimmer of her silver ring flashing suddenly as she brings her hand up to her forehead. Sighing heavily, she gestures vaguely to the information folder, permission for Loid to begin flicking through its contents greedily. 

"He's got a big meeting with the heads of some of the independent parties coming up next Sunday afternoon, rumour is he's going to use it to try stir up some preliminary support for a new sort of immigration bill," she explains as Loid scans the pages of information. "One that would ease up the requirements for immigrants from Westalis, and increase the refugee intake from further West, hopefully take the strain off Westalis resources." 

Loid nodded silently, staring down at the small picture on the Minister's profile page. 

Round face, curly black hair and a hard set mouth, a fairly standard look of old money and an educational background in law. It was this man's eyes, though, that stood out - irises almost icy blue and a blazing look about them that spoke of real, true determination. 

"He's a bit of a progressive?" Loid asked, silently thinking that _radical_ might be a more apt description of the Minister's expression. 

"I don't know about that," his handler replied ruefully, "but we need him alive to have that meeting." 

"Says here there's reason to suspect interference," Loid noted, eyes flicking back up to his handler, not missing the small tightening at the corner of her mouth before she replies. 

"We received a tip warning of an alleged plan for assassination or kidnapping." 

Loid frowns, hands stilling from where they had been dog earing notable pages of information. Assassination _or_ kidnapping. Two very different plots with two very different counter-approaches. It was going to be difficult to formulate any kind of plan while trying to combat both problems. 

"Tip from where?" 

His handler levels him with a glare. "Not your concern, Agent." 

"Are the Ostanians aware of the threat?" 

"Agent, all the _relevant_ information can be found in the folder." 

Loid tries another question. "Which one should be deemed a higher likelihood of occurring?" 

Another glare. "That's unclear at the moment. Information and equipment has been prepared for both - it says so in the folder." 

Loid tries not to bristle at the clear reprimand, instead turning to read more closely the pages specifying the recommended mission outline. A small detail catches his eye immediately. 

_Protective services badge - Mikail Berat. Badge No. 42987. Graduated National Police Academy 2016, completed specialised service training 2018._

"I'm going in as a bodyguard? Not the Minister?" It strikes an uncomfortable chord in his chest, preferring to pose as the victims or mark rather than as someone likely to be more removed from the centre of the mission. 

His handler lets out a humourless laugh. "I knew you wouldn't like it," she says drily, "but the Minister has meetings and public appearances scheduled almost every waking minute for that entire weekend - there would be no way to swap the two of you out conveniently." Her lips purse as she notes Loid's continued displeasure with the idea. 

"Agent, you cannot masquerade as the Ostanian Multicultural Affairs Shadow Minister for a whole weekend during meetings and appearances where there will be cameras and audio recordings. We still need you on location and close by to the Minister so - a bodyguard." 

Loid doesn't reply, still glaring down at Michael Owen's badge number as his handler sighs loudly. "It is _not_ negotiable, Twilight." 

Slowly, reluctantly, he looks up, nodding in understanding. "I'll get going, then," he murmurs, turning to head out of the office. The sound of a chair scraping harshly on the stone floor stops him, and he turns to see his handler half risen out of her chair. 

"Twilight?" his handler says, a note of warning in her voice as he turned back to face her, "If this goes south, extraction won't be possible without compromising the objective. Understood?" 

_If you get into trouble on this mission, we will leave you to die._

He swallows, making sure his features remain smooth and impassive. "Understood." His handler nods shortly, a brief flash of something softer than her usual gritty determination in her eyes, before turning away. 

"See you next weekend, agent." 

...

"A convention?" Yor asks later that evening, carefully stacking the plates in the cupboard as she stands beside him cleaning up after dinner. 

"Yes," Loid says, throat feeling uncomfortably dry. "One of my old professors was supposed to go, but his wife is ill so he recommended me to fill in." 

He thinks he can feel his palms actually sweating where they're buried under the soapy water of the sink, and his stomach is churning painfully with guilt as carefully feeds Yor the cover story that had been written in his mission folder. 

_A psychology convention - exploring VR and immersive technology treatments for PTSD._

Yor frowns as she dries off a glass. "The whole weekend?" she asks slowly. Loid swallows the thick lump of emotion that's wormed its way into his throat. "What about...Yuri's day off is that Saturday, and I've got that work- uh, work thing on the Sunday, I thought - I mean, you said -"

"I know, I-," he says, and he knows he's going to be apologising for a lot more than Yor even realises. "I'm sorry," he says into the silence. Yor just shakes her head, looking up at him with a smile that wavers at the corners. 

"No," she says brightly, Loid almost wincing at the obvious strain of it, "no, that's - well, I know this is important. It's your work. It's...really amazing, you know." 

"What is?" Loid asks incredulously, still up to his elbows in soap suds. 

Yor sends him another smile, a bit truer than the one just moments ago. "Your work. You really help people, make a difference." She turns away from him and busies herself with haphazardly rearranging some plates before continuing, a distinct air of shyness to her voice. "It's why I- it's one of the reasons I really like you." 

"Oh," Loid says dumbly. Yor just snorts, stepping behind him to wrap her arms around his stomach, her warm hands resting flat and comforting against his navel. 

" _Oh,_ " she mimics, placing a soft kiss to the back of his neck, more of a press of lips since she's smiling too much. Loid can feel something light break open in his chest, and he cranes his head back to look at her. 

She looks back at him, eyes nothing but kindness as she props her chin up on his shoulder as her fingers brush gently across his stomach. "Don't worry about the weekend," she murmurs softly. "We'll do a night with Yuri some other time and Anya's been asking to take Bond over to Becky’s for a while - she can have a play date on Sunday or I can just miss the work thing. It didn't sound very fun anyway." 

"Really?" Loid whispers to her, seized very suddenly with the thought that he does not deserve her at all. 

"Really," Yor replies gently and punctuates it with a loud smacking kiss to his cheek, before pulling away. "Now - back to work, kitchen boy!" A cheeky snap of the dish towel against his backside is all it takes for Loid to unfurl the cold ball sitting in his stomach. Maybe it'll be okay. 

...

It most definitely is not okay when he's standing at the front door at 5am the next Saturday morning, briefcase clenched tightly in his hand as Yor smiles up at him sleepily, still wrapped up in her ridiculous robe. 

He'd said his goodbye to Anya the night before, not wanting to wake her up so early the next day. She'd not been happy about his trip, spending the last week alternating between turning away pointedly to fuss over Bond any time Loid looked at her or clinging to him tightly like she was trying to prevent him from disappearing into smoke. Last night had been particularly difficult, but after gentle prodding from Yor, Anya had relented and thrown herself into Loid's arms with a muffled plea of, "Come back quickly, Papa." 

He hadn't teared up. (not at all.) (okay - maybe a little.) 

Now, in the still silence of the early morning, Loid can feel something else seizing him, something slimy and cold wrapping around his lungs. _Fear_. 

He's been afraid on missions before - it's a physiological human response to a perceived threat after years of complicated evolution designed to keep chances of continued optimal life conditions at their highest. It's his lizard brain trying to keep him alive and mostly whole. He understands. 

What he doesn't understand is why this fear is gripping him so tightly at this very moment that he can feel last night's dinner stirring uncomfortably in his stomach, palms sweaty and breathing as rapid as if he's been running. It feels like his fear is outside of himself, somehow, like it’s more than just idle worry about all the possible physical injuries he might walk away with from this mission, almost as though his fear of leaving Yor and Anya and the cocoon of this apartment is larger than the (frankly, more likely) risk of painful death. 

Yor is the perfect opposite of his panic - movements languid and molasses-smooth as she goes through her usual morning ritual of knotting and then smoothing down Loid's tie with practised, easy hands. 

She's smiling softly, and humming a lullaby that Anya's grown fond of recently. It should be comforting, like sinking into a warm bath, but it just sets the already frantic pulse in Loid's chest rocketing even faster. He feels, frustrating in its irrationality, as though the world is going to collapse as soon as he walks away from her. 

Loid can feel his hands begin to shake, has to set the briefcase down onto the floor lest he drop it as pin pricks of numbness spike through his fingers. Yor's hands have stopped in their ministrations, her brow furrowing as she brings a palm to rest right over his heart. 

"Loid," she whispers, "your heart's beating so fast." She brings both her hands up to circle his neck, fingers running gently across his skin in a soothing rhythm of motion. 

He swallows roughly, feeling the slithering iciness spread down his limbs in the face of Yor's concern. "I- 's'nothing," he forces out, leaning down to swallow whatever worried retort Yor tries to say, his lips almost bruising against hers. 

He wants her to feel it - his desperation, his love, his fear. It's wholly irrational, he know, his sudden need for him to kiss her like this is a forever parting and not just another mission and yet he can't stop himself from pressing harder, pulling her closer, trying to quell the chaotic tangle of emotions in his chest. 

Yor sinks into him easily, hands tugging roughly round his neck and chest pressing hard against his. Her teeth scrape against his bottom lip, a soft noise escaping the back of his throat at the sensation.

Yor pulls back at the sound, both of them breathing hard in the little space between them, eyes a little dazed and hands still clutching tight at the other. 

"Loid," Yor murmurs against his lips, her eyes big and round and searching, and he barely restrains the urge to reel her back in, "you're scaring me, what's going on?" 

He pulls back enough to see her face, eyebrows furrowed and mouth trembling at the corners, and his chest twists painfully. "I don't want to leave," he rasps out unthinkingly, and curses himself as soon as he's said it. 

Yor's eyes soften, her mouth falling into a sympathetic frown. "I- I don't want you to leave, either," she confesses softly, tips of her ears and the apples of her cheeks pinking adorably as her fingers twist in the collar of Loid's dress shirt. She arches up to kiss him again, fierce and possessive, and Loid almost falters under the sensation of Yor’s unasked question - _Do you really have to go?_

He wishes he didn’t, but- 

He does. 

Loid pulls back gently, turning his head to press his cheek to Yor’s hair to finally pull his thoughts back to the mission. He sucks in air deeply in an attempt to get his breathing back under control, and he grins a little when he hears his deep inhales mirrored by Yor. After a moment, Yor leans away and her eyes flicker up to his. Something anxious must show on his face because her expression tightens into one of apprehension. "Loid, is there something-"

"No, no...sorry," Loid interrupts her quickly, forcing out a rueful chuckle and shoving down on the strange anxiety plaguing the morning, "I'm just - worried about the plane. I don't like flying." The lie rolls off his tongue with ease, though it seems to do little to assuage Yor's worry. 

He strains to keep the smile on his face as he delivers a quick peck to her lips, pressing his forehead gently against hers. "Plus," he says, aiming, and falling a bit short of, nonchalant, "I'm going to miss my two girls." 

That seems to do the trick, the tense line of Yor's mouth quirking at the corners. She swats him gently on the arm, ears pink as she huffs out a laugh. "God, you're so-" she whines as she turns her head away from him, feigning a pout even as he lands another kiss to her cheek, "You can't just say stuff like that!" 

He wiggles his eyebrows, pulling an exaggerated smirk onto his face. "Oh, but I believe I just did," he croons, earning himself a small shove in the chest, with Yor's head burrowing against the very spot her hand lands only moments after and her arms drifting down to clasp around his waist. 

"You're ridiculous," she says. 

"But you'll still miss me," Loid teases, bringing his arms up to circle Yor's shoulders loosely. 

Yor tenses against him, an awkward beat of silence stretching between them before she sighs. "Yeah, I really will. Anya, too. I wish...well, it's only a weekend, I suppose." She cranes her head up to look at him again, her mouth trembling slightly. 

He allows himself one last quick peck to her lips, honeyed and a little apologetic, before he steps back out of the circle of her arms. Her mouth is pressed thin, a strain of a smile quirking one of the corners listlessly. Still, she tries for him, can see that there's more than just a fear of flying that has him lingering even though they both know the taxi he's called has been waiting at the curb for several minutes. 

"I'll see you on Monday," she says firmly - an order, a reassurance. "We'll be waiting." 

Loid nods, heart climbing steadily into his throat, threatening to spill out of him onto the floor. "Bye, Yor," he manages to say. 

And then he's turning away, hearing the door click shut and sliding onto the leather seats of the agency car that's been painted to look like a standard cab. 

His hands don't stop shaking until he's halfway to the air strip. 

He'll tell her, he decides as he climbs the metal steps onto the rumbling jet. As soon as he's home he'll sit her down and hold her hand as he explains it all carefully. 

Being an orphan. Being a refugee. Being approached by a man on the street who says, "What are you willing to do to stop this war?" Being bruised and exhausted every day at the training academy. Being a spy. Being her husband for the mission. Being her husband for real. 

If she screams and cries and tells him to leave he will. He'll arrange for a car explosion and a couple of fake body parts for Yor to bury. 

If she laughs in his face and tells him to quit joking, he'll leave it at that and try telling her again after a week. 

If she asks him to stop he'll....well, he can't quit the agency altogether. Maybe he'll ask for a desk job, in digital intelligence or human resource management, where he's firmly out of the field and largely out of danger. Or maybe he’ll just have to carry on working as Twilight while assuring her he’s not, replacing the lie he’s been telling Yor for months with another one. The latter is the most likely possibility, but it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. 

Either way - he'll tell her, he decides. After this is all over. He'll tell her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that....a plot I smell??? Hmm. If you've read through the kiss prompts you all probably know exactly how this fic is going to play out but - I never claimed to be original hehe! Next chapter will be up soon, love you all xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed, they fuel my soul :D  
> Keep an eye out for future chapters, they'll be up soon!! Tags will be updated with each chapter.
> 
> Also- come say hey on [tumblr](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com) or reblog [this post](https://peachie-girlie.tumblr.com/post/641134864796729344/your-sweet-lips-on-my-lips) where I update the chapters! <3


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